


Rose of Love

by Kajune



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, First Time, Happy Ending, Love Confessions, M/M, One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 22:15:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30062349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kajune/pseuds/Kajune
Summary: Iorveth and Roche discover the elven bathhouse.
Relationships: Iorveth/Vernon Roche
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	Rose of Love

The ruins of Caelmewedd was the most sacred place in Iorveth's forest. And it was _his_ forest, for no human had the right to step in and make claim on a single inch of it, otherwise they would face Iorveth's wrath. Many men had died to Iorveth's arrows once they'd entered the forest, some in search of treasure and others to root out the Scoia'tael. A handful had hoped to claim the sacred ruins, and Iorveth made sure their deaths were the most painful.

Iorveth was fond of the ruins. He enjoyed the scent of the roses and the sight of the statue, a loving couple in an embrace. The whole place symbolized love, and though many claimed Iorveth was an antithesis to love, this did not mean he could not appreciate the place, nor fail to recognize its importance.

It was by misfortune more than anything that Iorveth ended up fighting Roche near the ruins, within feet of the roses now scarce and too valuable to measure a price on. The ruins had seen bloodshed in the past, no doubt its original inhabitants cut down as they tried, hopelessly, to defend it. Iorveth did not want to spill more blood here and especially not a human's blood.

Unworthy, a human was to such a sacred place. Humans sought only to destroy all that was elven and Roche, undoubtedly, was no different. Iorveth tried to shove the man out through the archway, but Roche refused to yield in any manner to Iorveth. He took every advance, every step toward victory of Iorveth's as an insult to his king and country; he took it personal.

None of the other Special Forces Commanders had regarded Iorveth as anything more than a pointy eared nuisance, and died horribly for underestimating him. Roche sought to be different, sought to be better than his predecessors.

Iorveth did not believe he would not dare carry out their desire to take away the last of elven civilization, and Iorveth shoved Roche away with all the force he could muster, spurned on not only by sheer hatred for the man, but also out of a protective need to defend the ruins and its garden.

Roche was admittedly a strong man. He held fast, and even when Iorveth seemed certain to push him away, as far as possible from the roses and the statue, Roche was smart enough to know how to sidestep, to use trickery to get the upper hand. Iorveth nearly lost his balance but kept on clashing their swords, eager to fight anywhere else but here.

The struggle between the two rivals continued on mostly within the garden's confines, Roche determined not to pass through the archway for reasons Iorveth could only assume were selfish. The man had come to the ruins all on his own, led by some motivation Iorveth did not bother to ask; he simply attacked.

In the end, Roche took a step back without care for where he was going, he simply needed to stabilize his footing before Iorveth managed to knock him off his feet, which would have resulted in the same outcome. Roche's foot did not find solid ground beneath it, and Roche fell backwards into a chasm, Iorveth falling alongside him, both of them guided by the force of Iorveth's push.

A loud splash erupted as the two landed in a pool of water. Warm water, like a bath's. They came up to the surface about the same time, gasping and coughing and equally confused. Iorveth had heard rumors of a bathhouse beneath the ruins of Caelmewedd, but he had never thought to check if it were true or not. Roche was simply amazed such a place existed.

Iorveth quickly climbed out before the comfort of the water lulled him into letting his guard down, grasping his sword along the way. Roche followed suit, eager to dry up. He too found the water's temperature pleasing but could not afford to indulge in it. Neither thought they could indulge in anything right now, to be honest.

As he shook off some excessive water on his armor, Iorveth thought hard about what he should do now. He was within the walls of an ancient and forgotten bathhouse of great beauty, with water that ran warm to this day as if by magic, and much of the place retained its original splendor unlike so many other buildings.

There was a possibility Roche would seek to destroy the place, finish off where his predecessors had left off. The thought made Iorveth very uncomfortable, because he neither wanted to shed Roche's blood here in an effort to kill him nor actually fight the man when they could accidentally damage the walls.

If Roche had intended to loot or destroy what remained of the ruins, it could imply someone knew of this bathhouse's existence. A human knew. A human _king_ , perhaps. Iorveth felt anger and anxiety well up inside him, making his throat constrict and his body tremble, the need to stab somebody rising with it all.

Suddenly, Roche touched his shoulder.

"Are you cold? I noticed you shaking."

Iorveth turned to look at Roche, dumbfounded. The man was not wearing his hideous chaperon, the apparel bunched up in his other hand as if Roche had tried to wring it free of water. Iorveth saw, for the first time, a mop of brown hair on the man's head. It momentarily distracted him.

"What?" Roche questioned.

The elf shook his head and glared. He found Roche's hand to be warm, in contrast to the rapidly cooling temperature of his body. The walls did not retain heat, and like a building void of life, there was no warmth to be found on any surface. Only the water and Roche's hand were warm.

This did not mean Iorveth found the hand welcoming, especially after it had jarred Iorveth out of his anger. He never let anything distract him from his anger, for his anger was always justified. Iorveth shook the hand off his shoulder, still glaring at Roche as the man retracted the hand, looking displeased back at the elf.

Iorveth recalled that Roche had asked if he was feeling cold or not. As if the idea Iorveth felt cold bothered him. Iorveth couldn't understand why it mattered. The elf had the task of killing Roche and visa versa. Any other human would have quickly grabbed the opportunity to shove Iorveth under the water's surface, drown him and end his existence for humanity's sake.

Roche made no move to harm Iorveth, even as Iorveth thought of ways to do just that without soiling the pool's water or desecrating the walls of the bathhouse. He found himself rapidly without options.

"Know any idea how to get out?"

Iorveth blinked and took in his surroundings properly for the first time. The only obvious exit was above his head, a giant hole in the room's ceiling that was likely concealed by the vegetation above. Neither could reach it without the ability to fly. There was no doorway nearby, a fact that puzzled Iorveth. He almost wondered if the correct way in _was_ the ceiling.

"No," Iorveth admitted.

Roche cursed. It was a common reaction from him whenever things didn't go his way. Iorveth well remembered that memorable time when three of Roche's men had been sent to hunt for food for the Blue Stripes camp and came back with nekker remains.

No one else at the camp had been foolish enough to assume that stuff was edible, and Iorveth had to hold back a (decidedly evil) chuckle as the faces of the three soldiers fell when Roche rather unkindly rejected their prize. He had cursed here and there, mostly to himself, as the belligerent soldiers tried to figure out how to find food after hours wasted waiting for something to arrive.

The camp was ultimately saved by Ves and her pointy knives. Iorveth had learned from both personal experience and from Ciaran that Ves was a competent soldier unlike most others. He did not doubt that if she were here now, Roche might find a way to escape the ruins.

It was fun watching him glare at the architecture around him in a hopeless attempt to find answers or damn the walls for the way they were built, even if Iorveth himself was currently no less stuck despite being an elf in an elven bathhouse.

An elf that was also soaked through all layers of his armor and beginning to feel the chill in the air.

Roche turned to face Iorveth when he heard the elf let out a curse of his own.

"Cold yet?"

There was a hint of amusement in Roche's tone and Iorveth glared at him. It was then Iorveth notice Roche's fingers fiddling with the strings of his uniform.

"I'm fine, dh'oine."

Roche shrugged, as if expecting no other answer from his rival. He began, as Iorveth feared, to remove the outer layer of his uniform, taking care to remove the chain of office and place it gently on the floor, where a growing pile of clothes began to form. Iorveth felt himself flush at the sight. He did not think the human attractive, _not at all_ , he was merely unused to seeing people naked around him.

Such intimacies were rejected by Iorveth since he formed his first Scoia'tael unit. He wanted to be a leader who displayed no weakness, even as he occasionally longed for the affectionate touch of a lover. He'd long given up thinking he could have one after all the suffering he'd been through and chose, quite proudly, the life of a cruel and feared monster.

Even as he became more and more notorious and more and more hated, Iorveth still dreamed of a time when things could have been different, when the body of another - an equal - could be pressed against his without barrier, without shame, without fear.

"Aren't you going to undress?"

The words knocked Iorveth out of his reverie. He noticed only then that Roche had stripped down to his trousers, his chest bare and currently being dabbed dry by his chaperon. Iorveth had always assumed Roche respected the apparel more than his own life, but apparently not.

It took a moment for both the sight of Roche's bare skin and the words to register. Iorveth's face flushed bright red and Roche easily noticed.

"Ah," The man gulped, realizing what he sounded like. "I'm not...I'm not trying to be a pervert, alright." He scratched the back of his head, his cheeks dusted pink now. "It's just not healthy to wear clothes that are wet, got it?"

Iorveth understood and preferred to accept the explanation over any possibility of his most hated enemy prepositioning him. It was almost as if he was _hoping_ Roche would preposition him. The man was somewhat nice to look at and some elves did like joking that Iorveth might prefer humans over elves, simply because he so rarely indulged and never called an elf pretty.

No. Iorveth didn't want Roche near him, naked or otherwise. He shook his head vigorously and heard the human snort. Iorveth would rather freeze to death than bed a human, knowing it could ruin his reputation among his own kind if word got out. Roche was also unlikely to want him in turn, despite the oddly kind gestures of recent.

For all Iorveth knew, Roche really wanted Iorveth unarmed and defenseless and did not care for his health. Yet Roche went to sit on a bench, taking his soaked clothes with him and tried to dry off each article by wringing them. It would do little to actually dry them and Roche was merely removing excessive water. Judging by his deep frown, he probably knew this too.

Better this rather than nothing, one might say.

As the chill grew more unbearable, Iorveth began to wonder how Roche could handle the cold with just his trousers on. Even his feet were bare. Then Iorveth remembered Roche's hand had felt warm to the touch and realized humans might really be warmer than elves by default. He cursed again and heard Roche chuckle, most likely at his expense.

Iorveth was being stubborn while Roche was doing everything he could to remove water from himself and his precious uniform.

Deciding he would have no chance fighting Roche (and winning) if he caught a cold due to all the chill, Iorveth began carefully removing his armor, piece by piece, layer by layer. Very soon, he began feeling Roche's eyes on him, intent but not quite predatory, if Iorveth's judgment was correct. Iorveth made a point to look away from the man as he placed each article on the floor by his feet and cursed again.

Not for the first time, Iorveth regretted wearing so many layers, but these layers kept him safe and protected. They made him stand out too, next to the more lightly dressed elves of his unit, but Iorveth was never one to hide who he was.

After Iorveth pulled off his gambeson, he heard a moan coming from the direction of Roche and paused. Iorveth could feel his cheeks heat up and was hyper aware of the amount of skin he was showing by now. He very rarely wore so little in front of anyone, especially humans. He didn't quite like how it didn't make him feel vulnerable. Instead, he felt a bit excited.

Iorveth chose to ignore the sound and mark it as simple imagination, not yet willing to consider Roche wanting anything but the sight of his mutilated corpse. The thought calmed him down somewhat, but once he removed his tunic and exposed his chest, he heard Roche moan again.

It was undeniable the way Roche was reacting but Iorveth refused to look at him. He had his back turned, and with his cheeks becoming warmer and darker, he was glad for it. He didn't know what would happen if Roche saw how nervous (read: excited) he felt about all this.

The elf remained still, motionless, as the tunic slipped from his fingers and landed on top of his shoes. Like Roche, Iorveth only had one article of clothing on, a dark green hose that clung to his skin. He had even removed his headscarf, irritated by how soaked his hair felt. Long, reaching the top of his shoulders, and in a bit of need of a wash. Iorveth's hair thankfully covered the damaged side of his face.

Then Iorveth heard the sound of a stone bench creaking, as if weight had been removed from it. Iorveth chose not to move, even as his breathing turned a bit erratic and his sword was noticeably two steps away from him, too far to reach without moving his legs. He didn't feel like he could move right now, not as heat radiating from Roche's body touched his back.

Roche brought his nose to the crook of Iorveth's neck and breathed in. A hand came up to touch Iorveth's shoulder and Iorveth surprised himself by letting it stay there. Roche slowly, tentatively, brought his lips to the point where neck met shoulder and kissed. Iorveth's gasp was involuntary.

The man was almost unbearably warm. Iorveth was torn between wanting less of it and wanting _more_. Roche kissed that spot again and again, and brought his other hand up to mirror the first. Roche held Iorveth in place gently, a hold easy to break free from with a mere jerk of one's shoulders, yet Iorveth remained still, seemingly transfixed by whatever Roche had planned for him.

Roche brought one hand to cup Iorveth's jaw and turned his head toward Roche's face, allowing the human to slot their mouths together in an unexpected, yet delicious kiss. Iorveth hadn't been kissed in years and he could barely remember what to do. He let Roche guide him, take control, and it felt like the man was more than happy to devour him.

Iorveth's legs nearly gave out and Roche's arm wrapped itself around him, holding him up and in place, allowing Roche to take what he wanted from the elf's mouth. Iorveth felt his body respond to the ministrations of the man's tongue, lust beginning to overcrowd the elf's mind and leaving him with little thought beyond wanting _more_ of Roche, more of this undeniably attractive man.

Surprisingly, Roche seemed to find Iorveth attractive in turn, his free hand dancing reverently across Iorveth's chest, all the way down to the hem of his hose and back up again. Ever since Iorveth had carved out a name for himself, a personification of rage and hatred, he'd been seen as less and less attractive, to the point some elves seemed to find him hideous, even before his received his scar.

It was quite difficult to accept no one would want Iorveth anymore. He was damaged goods, apparently, worth only what he could do for the fight for elven freedom, nothing more. Ciaran might like to claim Iorveth was genuinely admired and respected, but Iorveth was a person willing to send young warriors out to die and maybe gain no benefit from it without hesitation.

Roche had done the same and maybe that's why he could see past all the darkness and bloodshed and anger that likely took away Iorveth's former beauty, one he'd reportedly had in his youth. Roche bore the same scars of war and torture and hatred and with Iorveth, he found an equal, someone he could thus look upon and see just the beauty.

Iorveth felt his heart go aflutter. _Equal_. He had always wanted an equal, someone who could understand all his hard work and not fixate on his crimes. Someone who could match him in strength and intellect. Someone who could still see the young elf underneath and love him in a way he had longed for for so long.

It felt almost heartbreaking that it could only be a human who could be that someone. Humans had taken away all of his happiness and his innocence. Iorveth had little else but his goals, formed not for his own sake but for his people, including the ones who mocked him and feared him, sometimes both.

When Roche slid his hand down and into Iorveth's hose, the elf pulled away from those delectable lips and groaned loudly. Iorveth tipped his head back against Roche's shoulder and stared up at the human, who began touching him while staring down at him, eyes focused on Iorveth's disfigured face. Iorveth's hair did not cover his scarred side, leaving it exposed to Roche's gaze for the first time.

And for the first time, Iorveth had his face looked upon without horror or disgust. Roche stared at him as if he already knew what his face looked like, or he simply did not care an elf had an empty eye socket and a scar that trailed down to the side of his lip. Roche seemed merely focused on watching Iorveth's reactions as his hand expertly brought Iorveth closer and closer to orgasm.

Iorveth didn't hold back the sounds that hand was driving out of him. With each jerk of his hips, Iorveth felt Roche's arousal behind him. It was clear what Roche wanted--what he intended to do with him. There was currently no plan to kill the elf that constantly upset his king and no plan to wreck this place Iorveth guarded with utmost vigilance.

No, Roche wanted _Iorveth_ and nothing more. The thought itself made Iorveth gasp as he came, suddenly aware his cock was no longer within the confines of his hose, brought out to spray on to the stone floor below. Iorveth was too shocked and dazed to feel thankful he wasn't left to ruin his clothing, collapsing back onto Roche's shoulder with a half-lidded eye and parted lips.

Roche was smiling when Iorveth took notice of his expression.

"You're so beautiful, Iorveth," Roche said. He sounded like he meant it too and Iorveth felt himself blush again. "I want to take you apart, right here and now." A kiss. "I've denied myself too long."

_What?_

Was Roche implying he had always wanted to have Iorveth?

Iorveth stared at the human in surprise, eye wide and disbelief clouding his thoughts momentarily. He didn't think this was possible, not from Roche, even though he had entertained the idea. It could be that seeing Iorveth almost naked turned him on, a fascination with elves in general bringing the human to touch and kiss his bitter rival, but to think...Roche had long wanted this...

Foltest would never have approved and yet...

"Are you serious, Vernon?"

Roche's smile widened and he nodded. Iorveth felt his heart skip a beat. "Wanted you since I first laid eyes on your beautiful face. You're strong and talented too, exactly my type." He kissed the elf, long and languid, even as Iorveth's head reeled from the revelation that shocked him deeply. "Can't say it's wise to want you but, if you're amenable, I'd be happy to show you just what I've been wanting to do with you all this time."

Iorveth's legs gave out definitely this time. Roche chuckled as he caught all of Iorveth's weight and held him up. Iorveth's face was scarlet now, a fact that no doubt pleased Roche. He meant it, every word, and this reality made Iorveth both so happy and so confused. He didn't know how to feel - not anymore - when someone claimed to want him, but he was indeed happy someone, at least someone, did.

Against all wisdom and, almost without shame, against the will of his king, Roche had longed for Iorveth and intended to fulfill his desires now that he had the elf almost naked and within his arms. No, not almost, Roche's hands were reaching down to remove the last barrier guarding the elf's modesty, not that it helped after what Roche had just done.

Iorveth felt the chill in the air and at the same time exposed, but he made no move to escape Roche's warm hold on his body. He let the man eye him hungrily. Iorveth could still feel the bulge in Roche's trousers and wanted, like a bride on her wedding night, to see the man's need evident on his body.

Unsure of what he was doing but still eager to do whatever Roche offered him, Iorveth rubbed his backside against that heat. Roche groaned loud and long, and tightened his hold on the elf.

"I'm glad you want this too, Iorveth." The expression he wore showed how much he meant it. "Let me," he licked his lips and Iorveth followed the movement with his eye. "let me guide you through this, okay? I want...I really want to show you my..."

Roche hesitated and looked away. Iorveth didn't know what to make of the hesitation and tried not to assume the man was regrettting his own words, probably thinking of throwing Iorveth aside out of disgust. No, Roche was quick enough to stop those thoughts from spiraling out of control. He kissed Iorveth's cheek and Iorveth noticed the look he wore now was uncharacteristically soft.

"Let me...show you...how I truly feel about you."

Iorveth doubted that was what he was going to say, but Iorveth nodded - gave his permission - and tried not to squeak as the man hauled him off his feet and laid him down on the cold stone floor. Roche hastily reached for his pile of clothes, pulled out his gambeson and spread it out next to Iorveth, then he gently guided Iorveth to lie on top of it.

The gambeson still carried some of Roche's body heat even after being soaked, but most of all, Iorveth could smell the man on it, a strong, distinctively human smell that did not disgust Iorveth as such smells usually did, mainly because he recognized something distinctively Roche in it as well.

Roche took a moment to admire the sight of Iorveth laid out before him on top of his gambeson. The man seemed pleased. Roche then began a slow journey of kissing his way down Iorveth's body, starting from his neck, to his shoulder, chest, stomach and then his cock. Roche gave it a few kisses, encouraging it to harden again, and moved on to kiss down both of his legs, one after another.

Iorveth felt positively pampered by Roche's ministrations. He hardly recalled being a tall, unshakable, elf-shaped menace of all the Northern Realms. Right now he was back to being an elf who desired affection, desired love, much like the couple whose depiction stood among the roses of remembrance on the ground above him. He would not usually admit to feeling jealous of the pair, so devoted to each other and _fortunate_ to have found each other.

Roche continued with licking along Iorveth's cock, causing more obscene sounds to fall from the elf's lips. Roche did this until Iorveth felt he was hard again, ready and eager to come all over the place. Roche gave Iorveth a smile before he sucked a finger into his mouth, coating it in his saliva. Iorveth shivered as he felt it touch his hole.

"This is rather ill-advised, but I have nothing else to prepare you with," Roche apologized.

Iorveth nodded. From what he could remember, he needed to relax as Roche began to stretch him for something obviously much larger than a human finger. Iorveth was busy trying to recall the last time he'd slept with someone that when Roche's finger pushed it, he was caught by surprise.

His body clenched hard against the intrusion. Roche responded by making soothing noises as he brushed his fingers up and down Iorveth's thigh. Iorveth felt like apologizing back for losing track of himself but felt Roche wasn't even mildly offended. Iorveth chose to simply do his best to calm his nerves with deep breathing. He needed to relax.

It didn't take long for Roche to successfully fit more than one finger into Iorveth, eyes constantly on the elf's face, admiring his expressions with each stroke inside that hot place. Iorveth was so lost in the sensation that he could barely focus on anything, only somewhat aware of the eyes focused on him as he let out sounds filled with pleasure.

Too long, too damn long since he had allowed himself this.

Roche filled him with three, saliva-coated fingers. By now, both of them were obviously desperate to connect their bodies and experience the wonders of sex, of love making. Only by sheer force of will, and something he'd dared not to tell Iorveth yet, kept Roche focused on preparing the elf for what was to come instead of choosing to satisfy his own need first.

Only when he was confident he would not hurt the elf did Roche withdraw the fingers and delighted in the needy cry Iorveth let out. Roche stood on shaky legs to slip off his trousers, his cock hard and leaking. He wasn't going to last as long as he would have liked and hoped against all hope that Iorveth would be willing to do this again.

If he didn't, well...Roche would keep this moment close to his heart and never forget it. Obviously, he would also never share it, aware how easily he could lose his head for doing anything short of trying to kill Iorveth.

For now, Roche focused on giving Iorveth pleasure. Iorveth gladly spread his legs and let Roche situate himself between his thighs, his warm bulk a comfort against the ever-present chill of the room, kept away by either Roche's close proximity or the heat that was spreading throughout his own body.

Roche stared into Iorveth's one eye, at the face of a man he knew as both beautiful and brilliant. Iorveth saw the face of a man more handsome than he'd originally thought, the chaperon doing more to hide the man's natural charm than he was probably aware of. Roche was also nice to look at when he wasn't scowling like a man with lemon trapped between his teeth.

A smile, even a single one, did wonders to Roche's face, made him look younger and more approachable. Iorveth had been told that he could stand to smile too and receive the same effects, but he found little cause to smile nowadays.

As Roche prepared to enter Iorveth, the two shared a smile. This was a moment they both wanted with all of their hearts. When the first push was made, when Iorveth first felt Roche enter him, pleasure blossomed within both of them, increasingly as Roche, with all the care he could muster, went deeper into Iorveth's welcoming body.

Roche was right to assume he wouldn't last. He fought hard to control himself, to give himself and Iorveth time to enjoy it. His thrusts began slow, careful, and until Iorveth cried out the word, "harder," he refused to change his pace. Only after the elf made the request twice did the pace become fast and deep.

Iorveth threw his head back and let out all the noise the thrusts drove from him with abandon. He didn't care if anyone heard or how embarrassing he sounded. He wanted this desperately and Roche was just as desperate to give it to him. He clawed at the man's back, kissed him whenever the man kissed him first, and held him close with his straining thighs.

The urge to say what he'd been reluctant to say earlier nearly forced its way out of Roche as sense began to flee from him to make room for overwhelming pleasure. Roche forced the urge down with all he had, not believing Iorveth would reciprocate it in the slightest, especially while the two were in the heat of the moment, high in the clouds and nowhere near the ground where reality designated them to be bitter enemies.

Right now, Roche and Iorveth were lovers coupling within the safety of a hidden, elven room. He could take Iorveth apart without the fear of witnesses or someone accusing him of treason. Roche glanced at the Temerian blue gambeson he had Iorveth lying on, that he was fucking Iorveth into, and smiled crookedly even as he panted heavily.

He dared not let anyone know he was committing treason, yet he had no shame soiling the uniform that symbolized his high rank and the admiration the king held for him. **Treason** , he did not fear it as much as he thought. What he cared for, besides the stability of the land he called home, was the elf he now held in his arms.

Iorveth knew none of his thoughts, eye screwed shut as he neared his limit, and Roche found comfort in that. Any day, Roche would prefer to skirt the line between loyalty and treason than to have what he felt, what he wanted from Iorveth, rejected.

Right before he came inside the elf, Roche thought he could die in peace if all he received from Iorveth was this moment. He quickly took hold of Iorveth's cock and brought them to completion at the same time, their cries mixing together and echoing off the walls, probably throughout the garden above.

The two of them collapsed, neither minding the mess between them nor the weight Iorveth felt on top of him. Roche was inclined to move once he regained strength in his limbs, while Iorveth secretly found comfort in the weight, not too heavy and just the right degree of warm.

It was, for both of them, a surprisingly comfortable position. For a while.

* * *

Iorveth hadn't planned on bathing in the bathhouse but he needed to if he was going to (somehow) leave the place not covered in sweat and his own stickiness. Roche had offered to help wipe him down, a kind gesture Iorveth declined because he was used to caring for himself. He did notice how the rejection made Roche's face fall but he did not feel like mentioning it.

When it came time to dressing, Iorveth noticed Roche bothered only to wear half of his uniform; the chaperon, the chain mail and the gambeson were draped over one arm, along with the chain of office. When asked, Roche claimed he didn't need them, he wasn't going into battle or anything.

He even joked that, with the way he was dressed now, in a brown shirt and light trousers, he was nearly unrecognizable. Iorveth found himself agreeing.

As Iorveth put back on every piece of his armor, Roche used the extra time to search for a way out. There was apparently a doorway covered by vines, which led into a rather spacious room with no exit. Roche made a loud noise of lamentation that Iorveth secretly found adorable.

A way out of the bathhouse was discovered when Iorveth placed his hands along a wall and found it strangely loose. With great reluctance, Iorveth agreed to Roche's suggestion to knock back the loose bricks until whatever was on the other side - and a few knocks suggested there was something - was unveiled. 

"You don't honestly want to die down here, do you?" Roche had said to convince Iorveth to desecrate the place.

Behind the wall was a path, clearly dug out through the ground, that led upward. Neither chose to spare the time to figure out why it was there and what for, choosing instead to see where it led. Iorveth climbed onto the path first, pushed up by Roche, whom he then pulled up with his hand.

To their shared relief, the path led up back to the garden above. Iorveth sighed in relief, half-expecting to find a dead end. He approached the roses to take in their comforting scent. Roche came to stand next to him, to admire them too apparently. It was then Iorveth remembered Roche had come here, on his own, for reasons he had only been able to guess.

The reminder nearly tore down the peace between them, Roche eyeing the roses as if pondering something, something that made him look pensive. Iorveth could only assume it wasn't anything pleasant, but Roche spoke up before Iorveth took up the urge to draw his sword in defense of his elven heritage.

"You don't mind if I pick one, do you?"

Iorveth frowned at the human. He could not simply assume this was a friendly request. The roses were rare and valuable and few humans understood what they meant. Too many gardens had the roses plucked because of their beauty, only to wilt soon after and disappoint the foolish humans who thought stealing was a good idea.

Many a gardens suffered for this foolishness. If the roses would not last because a human demanded it, they did not deserve to exist.

Roche may not be planning on burning the bushes or damaging the statue, for unlike the many humans before him, he had made a request, but Iorveth had to be on guard, he had no choice but to be _suspicious._

"What for?"

The human blushed a lovely shade of pink. It was a pretty color to see on the man. Iorveth brushed the thought aside and tried to maintain his focus on his objective - to find out the reason for such a request - while Roche rubbed the back of his neck as if embarrassed.

"I...I wanted to give it to someone...special."

Oh. Iorveth wasn't expecting that answer. Then again, Roche might want to hand-deliver a beautiful rose to his king, such was his loyalty Iorveth could find this scenario possible. The rose would only last if given to a loved one, and a feeling of nausea rose up in Iorveth's throat at the thought that maybe, if Roche did just that, the rose wouldn't wilt.

Only the memory of what Roche had done to him earlier kept him from throwing crude accusations at the human. No one deeply loyal toward Foltest would fuck an elf of the Scoia'tael. No, delivering the elf's head to Foltest would have been more romantic than an elven rose.

"Do you," Iorveth paused, thinking best how to phrase the question. Roche was looking at him expectantly, which was _not_ helping his concentration. "do you know the rose's legend?"

If Roche didn't, then the request was a naive one and one that too often led to a dead rose and fewer to admire in the garden.

"Oh. Yeah, I do." What? "It's..." Roche's blush came back, seemingly with a vengeance. "I know it's meant to be given to someone special...in order to last."

So he did know. Iorveth was genuinely surprised by this. Roche had never seemed invested in elven lore, which was why it was so much easier to imagine he would come to destroy anything remotely elven, with or without Foltest ordering him to.

The thought of Roche knowing was also surprisingly comforting. It was like one less barrier between them, a potential for understanding increased. Not that Iorveth expected to get to know Roche more outside of battle, but he wasn't against--

"Can I?" Roche asked again, jarring Iorveth out of thoughts that were making _him_ blush. The smile on the human's face indicated he could see the blush and liked it. This fact only made Iorveth blush more.

Roche understood the special nature of the roses of remembrance. That was a good enough reason to let him pluck one. This one rose would not waste away mistreated, but Roche was still human and if he had anyone to give it to, that person was likely human as well.

Iorveth hated how thinking Roche loved a human made his mood sour to great levels. The bitter taste in his mouth served only to make him feel worse by reminding him of his days in the Vrihedd Brigade, forced to drink lemonade and little else unless he upset Nilfgaardian sensibilities.

Such days were not worth remembering given their outcome, but Iorveth would much prefer them over the inevitably of finding out whom Roche loved if he let the man have a rose.

He probably owed it to Roche for the wonderful experience he gave in the bathhouse, one he had doubts ever experiencing again with anyone. A shame, but Iorveth had endured without sex for a long time and he should easily be able to do so again.

"Alright." Iorveth gave his assent, feeling miserable as he did.

Roche took a moment to stare at Iorveth's face, what looked to be concern shaping his own features, an expression not unlike the one he wore when he had asked if Iorveth was cold or not. Iorveth didn't know what Roche saw that made him worry now and tried to stare blankly at the human.

It didn't seem to work. Roche bit his lip and glanced at the rose bushes. He seemed hesitant, as if deciding what was wrong with Iorveth was more important than his intention to deliver a rose to his beloved.

The thought **did not** make Iorveth swoon like a damsel.

In the end, Roche said nothing as he reached out to pluck a rose of remembrance. Iorveth's face fell like heavy weight held it down, and he couldn't help the sadness that filled his heart at the sight of what Roche was doing and what it meant.

All of his sad feelings were washed away and replaced with utter confusion when Roche handed that same rose to him.

"For you, Iorveth."

There was a genuine smile on Roche's face and in no way did he look like he did not mean to give this to his rival. No, his _lover_ , but Iorveth hadn't expected either of them to treat the change in dynamics as anything more than a one time thing that needed to be forgotten.

A rose of remembrance was being handed to him, by _Roche_ , the Commander of the Blue Stripes. Thinking back, Iorveth had thought Roche had been overcome with lust when he spoke those words to him, while he held him and kissed him. For Roche to hand Iorveth a rose, knowing full well what that meant, implied...

"You...love me?"

Roche's face was the exact same shade as the rose and he was clearly struggling to speak. His arm holding his clothes fiddled with what article it could reach, a sign of nervousness. The world seemed to slow for Iorveth, time desperately needed to process what was happening.

He hadn't been loved in years, not romantically. His mind had been willing to compare the love he wanted with the affection Roche had given him in the bathhouse but, this...Roche was confessing his feelings and Iorveth...for so long he'd wanted...

It was by fortune that Roche could reach out and catch Iorveth in time, for the elf's legs had lost their strength a second time that day. Roche was startled when he felt the elf cling to his shirt and weep, tears staining the fabric. Not that he cared much.

Iorveth trembled in Roche's arms, joy filling the elf for the first time in decades. He'd known only sorrow, loss and hatred since, all keenly thanks to the absence of true happiness. Roche may not be the best choice for a partner - he was human, he was Foltest's, and he fought the Scoia'tael - but Roche was earnest and so few dared to even consider Iorveth lovable.

Fewer dared to love Iorveth themselves.

Roche embraced Iorveth firmly, protectively, as if shielding him from the world that promised future pain, as it did with so many other elves. Iorveth found comfort in Roche's hold, even as he cried and cried until his voice grew hoarse and his body became exhausted, flushed with an emotion nearly unfamiliar to the strong yet lonely elf.

"It's okay," Iorveth heard Roche say, one hand caressing his back. It felt like he'd been saying those words for a while, trying his best to soothe his rival--no, lover the entire time.

As Iorveth gradually regained control of himself, his tears now drying up with only a few sniffles left, he took notice of his position. He was leaning forward against Roche, nearly his entire weight on the man, he had stained with tears the shirt that was, based on quality, clearly commissioned by the king for his right hand.

The hand moving up and down Iorveth's back was not holding the rose. After a beat, Iorveth realized it was the same hand occupied with carrying the rest of Roche's uniform. He glanced down and spotted the clothes lying haphazardly on the ground, bits of dirt now on them, like they didn't matter anymore.

Not compared to Iorveth, the sight of their abandonment implied, while Roche continued to use the very arm they'd fallen from to soothe Iorveth, gentle words still being whispered in his ear.

Vernon Roche's priorities were very clear, and had been since the bathhouse.

It made Iorveth wonder why he had come here. If his original assumption that Foltest had sent Roche to do damage to this sacred place been wrong, then what then? Not inclined to move from the comfort of Roche's embrace, a little worried he wouldn't be held like this again, Iorveth whispered the question into Roche's ear.

"Why did you come here?"

Roche gulped. He was nervous again. It took him a moment to develop the courage to look back at Iorveth, hand still caressing Iorveth's back like he couldn't quite bring himself to stop. Iorveth didn't mind.

"I came here hoping to grab a rose to...to give to you."

Oh. Oh gods. He'd been planning to give Iorveth a rose _from the beginning_!? This meant Iorveth would have been handed a rose had he chosen not to attack first. The thought made Iorveth feel somewhat dizzy, oversensitive.

Then something clicked.

"Roses don't last more than several minutes once plucked," Iorveth pointed out, tone bordering on accusation. "how did you expect to find me before it wilted?" He'd heard stories that a rose could be brought back to life if given to the holder's beloved eventually, but Iorveth had yet to see proof of that.

Roche chuckled, but it was a nervous chuckle. He paused rubbing Iorveth's back to scratch the back of his own head, and Iorveth immediately resented him for it, like some needy cat who demanded attention, he thought vaguely.

"I already knew you guarded this place. I couldn't guarantee you'd be here when I came but, I heard stories that most people who approached the garden were shot by arrows. A few witnesses claimed it was definitely you every time."

Iorveth stared incredulously at the human. There wasn't a time Iorveth could remember sparing anyone who'd come here to steal a rose or burn down the bushes, or anything equally nefarious, but he supposed some might have kept enough distance, hid well enough, to avoid Iorveth's wrath.

Roche had learned from these lucky souls that Iorveth would be near, at least by the time someone approached the garden. The discovery that Roche had been expecting Iorveth and had plans to give Iorveth the rose immediately...

"Bloede dh'oine!"

For the first time, Roche smiled fondly when given that insult. To be fair, Iorveth had blurted it out because the man had made him feel frustrated, not because he was cursing Roche to damnation or anything. Besides, Iorveth had a long list of better insults to give Roche if he meant to hurt the man's feelings.

Ciaran had been scandalized by some of those words. He'd seen a lot in his years as a veteran of the Scoia'tael, from a battlefield of corpses to a bunch of youths in the middle of an orgy, yet Iorveth's vocabulary flustered the elf.

That said more things about Iorveth's personality than his second's definition of "acceptable behavior."

To be fair, Iorveth was currently overwhelmed with emotion and he very much wanted to bury himself in the ground and hide his hot cheeks and trembling form. Roche resumed caressing his back and the gesture did wonders to Iorveth's mood, but he still felt like the man had unnecessarily made his life difficult.

Coming from the elf who couldn't be bothered to talk first then attack, had Ciaran been here, he would have easily called Iorveth out on the hypocrisy.

It was only after he'd managed to calm himself down (again) did Iorveth remember why Roche was hugging him with only one hand. The rose!

Iorveth pushed back in such a hurry Roche stumbled, but he didn't look offended. Iorveth eyed the rose and didn't hold back the mournful sounds he made at the sight of its black petals. It looked dead, dead and wilted.

He was a fool.

Roche extended the rose to Iorveth anyway, though Iorveth didn't think doing so held the same meaning as handing Iorveth a fresh rose. He took it anyway, grasping the stem with both hands knowing he was at fault for its untimely demise.

Almost immediately, the rose's petals turned bright red and filled with so much spark and life Iorveth nearly dropped it.

The rumors _were_ true, the rose could come back to life. Iorveth stared in awe at the sheer beauty of the rose, surpassing even the others still bound to the bushes. This meant Iorveth hadn't sacrificed any rose, this meant Iorveth was loved, this meant...

This meant Vernon Roche was unquestionably in love with him.

The only reaction Iorveth could conjure when the realization struck him was a single tear that streamed down his face. Roche carefully brushed it aside. It took a moment for Iorveth to have the courage to look back up at Roche, to see the loving expression he wore.

Did Roche know this was going to happen? Did he know he could revive it just by giving it to Iorveth?

Iorveth surged forward and kissed the human with everything he had. In the briefest moment their lips came apart, Roche laughed heartily and kissed him back, arms tightly wrapped around the elf he so clearly wanted to have, to be with.

When tears began to fall upon Iorveth's cheeks, the human leaning over him as he fought with Iorveth to prove who felt this love more strongly - and honestly, no one could expect the two not to fight like usual - Iorveth knew even with his one eye closed, savoring the kisses they shared, that Roche was crying. He was happy and crying.

If the rumors were true, the Commander of the Blue Stripes was never known to cry over anything.

The degree of importance Iorveth held in Roche's life was mind-numbing and he chose not to think too hard about it, lest he spend the rest of the day swooning over and over. He wasn't a damsel, and as much as he didn't mind Roche taking control and winning their fight and letting him kiss Iorveth to his heart's content, Iorveth did want to have enough strength left to reward Roche for letting him know how he felt.

"I love you," Roche breathed against Iorveth's lips. The words made Iorveth feel all tingly and fluttery. Happy, too. "I love you." Roche said again, tears still streaming down his face like his own love overwhelmed even him. "I love you, you beautiful, amazing elf."

Iorveth tried to laugh past all the kisses and he didn't mind that he couldn't. He was happy simply knowing Roche felt so strongly about him. He also felt a desire for something a little more intimate than kissing build inside him and he knew Roche would be amenable to whatever Iorveth suggested.

"Vernon, Vernon, Vernon!" Iorveth chanted back, the name spoken with reverence for the first time.

Pressed up close against Roche's warm body, Iorveth could tell Roche desired the same thing, their first time love making hardly enough. With a known way to and from the bathhouse, and Iorveth needing not to return to base anytime soon, Iorveth knew exactly what he wanted from his lover.

It took a great deal of effort for the two to separate and not tear each other's clothes off right then and there. As Roche took the lead and went back down toward the bathhouse, Iorveth decided to secretly pluck another rose for himself. He breathed in the scent of both his and the new one, finding a mild different but believing with all his heart that they would both look and smell the same soon.

Iorveth glanced at the statue of Eldan and Cymoril and felt as though their love had somehow blessed him. It was a nice thought. Without further ado, Iorveth hurried off after Roche, forgetting along the way that the way into the bathhouse was a few feet above ground and tripping over...right into Roche's waiting arms.

It was a nice spot to fall into and Iorveth held tightly onto his human. He really loved Roche's scent, which was beginning to smell so much like _home_.

* * *

**The End**


End file.
